Rosso
by Julia Biancardi
Summary: Can Antonio pull Lovino away from the criminal underground or will he lose him to the mafia? Spamano. Mafia! Lovino/Antonio.
1. Chapter 1

Antonio knew injuries weren't a stranger to the rough Italian boy currently residing with him. It didn't seem too long ago he would stumble through his open door, caked with dried dirt and sweat, bearing scraped knees. Back then, the wounds were innocent, but now?

These were different. The stone cold mask Lovino now wore was not one to hide giddiness or embarrassment, but fear. Raw, unfiltered fear. The Spaniard could practically see a precariously perched weight balanced on his stiff, hunched shoulders.

New cuts every day, leaving Antonio with the foreboding that Lovino was hiding something. Something dark and possibly dangerous. It was ample cause for concern, but would Lovino let him in? Or would he shut down in favor of pushing Antonio away, only to expose his ever present scowl?

It was like the presence of an unopened package, constantly looming in the doorway. All it provided was a desperate curiosity. Where did the younger man spend his late nights, only to return with fresh wounds, trembling legs, and airs of angry indifference? Where there more scattered scars and newly leaking injuries hidden beneath his long sleeve shirts and dress pants? More importantly, what was the cause, and why did the usually spunky Italian seem to recede into himself day by day, wracked with developing paranoia?

He wanted to grab Lovino and shake him by the shoulders, scream and yell for the names of who hurt him. Secretly, his heart would thrum with anger at the damage. It took all his self-control not to slam down the already frail body and ask, no, demand as to what he had gotten himself into. To not jab a finger into the Italian's chest and promise blood to those who dare touch him. To not force the answers out of the frightened Lovino who was not ready to give them.

Still, though maddening, all he could do was wait for the younger to open up on his own. Even when Lovino would slam open the door with black eyes and scraped limbs, he would smile. It was a smile that felt tight and strained, but was convincing enough to the dreary teen. With a gentle demeanor he would care for the battered Italian, bandaging the wounds on the flesh he was allowed to see, before calmly inquiring as to what happened this time.

It was always the same. Lovino would go rigid, deathly silent for a drawn out moment, before relaxing and looking down at the Spaniard who sat perched on his knees.

"You know what happened," came the words, clipped and short, "I fell."

They both knew the clichéd response was bullshit, but would it really matter what excuse he gave? No matter how naïve Antonio was, he knew the difference between Lovino's lies and the truth, and anything he said now a days was far from it.

As long as it was in Lovino's best interest the Spanish man could ignore the sugar coated lies in favor of feigning patience. He could soak himself with the essence of a calm emotions in hopes it would reassure the Italian he'd come to love that he was open and ready at any point he needed. Antonio would not pry where he was not wanted, or rather, where Lovino was not yet ready to let him in.

But even he had a limit. Antonio could not pretend to be alright today, when Lovino painstakingly fell against the door and into the apartment a tattered, beaten shell of the nineteen year old that had left this morning. No, he couldn't pretend to be content with the half conscious Italian slumped against his door, sporting a busted nose and a bullet in his leg.

"Lovino," the name was barely a whisper on his lips as he rushed to the teen's side, kneeling in front of him and fluttering his coarse hands over the frail body. How could he possibly touch the boy without him withering to dust and slipping through his fingers?

"'Tonie," came the forced grunt through clenched teeth.

"We have to- _Ay dios mio- _we have to get you to a hospital. Now!" Antonio felt hysteria rising in the form of a lump in his throat.

A surprisingly strong grip clutched to the hem of his white shirt, smearing tiny droplets of blood through the fabric. "No!" A moment of hesitation. "Just… Just don't. Please." The word, though quiet, held a desperate edge.

Antonio paused, if only for a second, before leaning over Lovino. He spoke softly, like he was afraid the words would frighten, or even harm the frail form. "I'm sorry, Lovino, we have to go."

* * *

><p>To say the feisty Italian put up a fight was an understatement. He kicked, thrashing in the man's arms, screaming profanities through hoarse lungs. The trip down the stairs to the buildings parking lot was certainly one for the history books.<p>

The car ride was even worse. Lovino, once closed into the vehicle, looked so scared and broken, like he was constantly on the verge of crying. Lips trembling and eyes swelling with unshed tears he whispered to himself, unaware Antonio could hear his shaky voice.

"_What do I do? What should I say? How-?" _ Were the words the Spaniard strained to hear before he relapsed into Italian.

The pathetic sight was devastating. What monster had the teen so utterly terrified? Lovino wasn't _that _bad, was he? There was nothing he could have done to deserve this, was there? The only thing that came to the Spaniards mind was that Lovino had buried himself deep, six feet into something illegal.

_Mio Dio, Lovino. What have you done?_

His own thought hung in the air. What was he hiding? Now he knew he should have pried until Lovino let him know what was going on. Surely, he could have prevented this? If anything had happened to Lovino, had, God forbid, the Italian had not come back one day, what would he do? Drink himself into oblivion? Go into a raging depression with the knowledge he could have done more? He couldn't even imagine life anymore without the feisty Lovino, though, he hadn't even been staying with him that long.

He'd made a colossal mistake. Instead of waiting for Lovino to open up to him he should have pried the locked gates apart and then taken him far, far away. It was almost inappropriate with their relationship, as Lovino was just staying with him until he got back on his feet, but he would not hesitate to take him away to Spain or even back to Italy if that meant removing him from harm.

"An….Antonio…."

"_Si?"_

_ "_I feel funny…"

Antonio snuck a glance at the slouched Italian before turning his eyes back to the road, concern overtaking him. "Funny?"

"_Si, _black clouds," his voice grew impossibly weak and frightened, "they're over taking my vision. I think I'm going to…. to… feint." The last word was barely a breath. Lovino collapsed completely, crumpling up like paper as his head hit the dashboard with a soft _thunk. _Antonio became painfully aware of the metallic smell that always accompanied copious amounts of blood.

Eyes widening, not even able to yell Lovino's name he slammed on the accelerator, though the road was relatively clear he had to speed past some cars. His manor of driving could put Italians to shame, but all he could think is that they were almost there, and that Lovino was in a lot of trouble.

It seemed like an eternity before he reached the hospital. Not even bothering to park he pulled up to the front, springing from the car and at the passenger's side door in a flash. Unbuckling and pulling the limp Lovino's body to him bridal style he sprinted to the front doors.

He pushed against them with his back and immediately felt all eyes on him. It was like one of those overdone ER shows. Nurses and doctors alike swarmed him, a gurney was rolled out in an instant.

It was all so fast. Antonio wanted to cling to the warmth that was Lovino, some irrational part of his mind believed leaving him in someone else's care wasn't right, but his body moved on his own. He put the Italian down on the gurney.

He caught a glimpse of Lovino before he was swiftly wheeled away. Curled on his side, face scrunched in pain even in unconsciousness. Now he saw that Lovino looked even worse than when he first assessed, even more damaged and bloody then he previously noticed. Antonio could feel his heart breaking. He felt physically sick, ready to collapse in a heap and wretch all over the floors. His body trembled violently and for a moment he believed he would.

He tried to follow, oh did he try. It took all his strength to get his legs to work. Antonio bet he was stumbling to keep up with the doctors, hell, he was sure of it. His knees shook so violently and his legs felt so weak. Still, he had to keep up with Lovino.

At some double doors a blonde nurse stopped him forcefully, her strong hands a contradiction to her feminine frame. "Sir, you are not permitted beyond this point. Please take a seat in the waiting room and we will call you when we are ready." Her voice was so calm. How? _How could she be so calm when Lovino was hurt?_

His fingers twitched, resisting the urge to throttle her. She looked like a perfectly nice lady, but the influence of his high strung emotions and desperate need to stay with Lovino made his image of her warp into a demon. He let out a breath when she disappeared into the ER ward, glad she left when she did.

His legs gave out then, falling onto his knees and hunching his shoulders in like he could disappear from the world. It was all his fault. He was just so stupid! Lovino could die and he let it happen! He let it get this far!

There were a million ways Antonio could have prevented this, but that would have just been too easy, wouldn't it? Instead of taking some action like a normal person he had to wait, take it easy while Lovino was smacked around everyday.

Antonio couldn't take his own thoughts. Was there permanent damage? Would Lovino even survive? Oh, God, it really was all his fault. What kind of person just sits there and watch someone, who he admittedly had feelings for, get terrorized?

He wanted to punch himself, or better, he wanted to switch places with Lovino.

A bitter laugh escaped his shaky lips. No, Lovino wasn't the type of person to sit back and do nothing. He would yell and pry and nose around until he had his answers. He was better than him. Lovino could have at least handled this situation. Yes, the roles should have been switched, because if Antonio was in Lovino's place there was no way either of them could have ended up so broken.

Antonio's face felt uncharacteristically wet, and as he brought a hand to his face he knew he was crying. Now he noticed his own eyes brimmed with tears, slightly raw with the sheer amounts of strain. It wasn't a surprise he was crying. The mere thought of Lovino strapped to an IV or possibly going under the knife was enough to make him outright sob.

And he did, too. As soon as he felt himself crying they escalated into horrible, body wracking sobs. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think about anything else besides this scenario that was ultimately his fault. His doing.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, a soft voice asking if he was ok, but he wasn't. Antonio ignored the stranger in favor of glaring bleary eyed at the door, mentally reaching for what lay beyond that point.

_No te mueras__, __Lovino__. __Te amo._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Do you ever write something out than put it on here and it just seems ten times shorter? On my computer this was roughly four pages and on here it just seems so short to me.**

_Translations:_

_No te mueras, Lovino. Te Amo.- Don't die, Lovino. I love you._

_Ay Dios mios- Oh my god_

**Basically everything Spanish (or even Italian, in the future) is from google translate, so if your a native speaker and want to drop in the actual translation when I fuck up go right ahead and I'll try and change in when I get the chance.**

**I guess R&R would be appropriate for an authors note. It's really appreciated even though now that I'm looking at this chapter as a whole it's just... Ugh. You know? Writing is hard. I'm especially bad at conveying emotions, it's hard for me to put into words. I'm sure someone can relate to seeing an image in your head and not being talented enough to put it on paper. Just, ugh.****Ughhhhhhh.**

**On another note when I uploaded this FF deleted part of it, so if it seems weird or jumbled it may be that. I looked it over and I think I fixed all of it but you never know.**

**Anyway, bye! Until next time, maybe?**


	2. Chapter 2

Before he opened his eyes Lovino knew something must have been broken. The soreness in his limbs leaked down to his core. Even his chest complained, with every beat it was like his body begged for his heart to stop all together. He hadn't even attempted moving yet, so the Italian could only imagine the torture that would accompany forced movement.

When his eyes fluttered open they were met with a white ceiling. The steady beep coming from the left of him let him know he was in a hospital and with a slight twitch of his muscles he felt the stirring of a cord coming from his wrist along with a second connected under his nose. Despite only having twitched his fingers sharp pain accompanied him, not in his fingers directly, but shooting up his forearm like a tiny needle.

As his mind began to catch up with him Lovino vaguely remembered passing out. Darkness had danced inward from the edge of his vision and back in that moment he remembered he was terrified. At that time he wondered if he'd wake back up. The look on Antonio's face hadn't helped his rising fear, and that had been the last thing he'd seen. After that it's like he'd momentarily disappeared, like he wasn't even there anymore.

When his thoughts returned at full speed shuffling to his right demanded attention. Looking over, neck straining uncomfortably when he lolled his head to the side, Lovino let his eyes fall upon a hunched Spaniard.

Antonio was drawn inward, shoulders pushed forward and head in his callused hands. For a moment he wondered if he was asleep, but with the way his posture rounded there was no way he'd be able to sit in such a precarious way without tumbling from his seat.

The Italian felt a tinge of annoyance that Antonio hadn't noticed him wake up. It was irrational, sure, but Lovino felt like his body had recently been trampled by stampeding bulls. That, and mixed with the teen being a naturally irritable person, the chances of him not being a little bratty sunk to an all time low.

"Hey, Bastard!" His voice came out rough. Antonio's head snapped up, unwashed curls flipping in an almost comical way. Stubble lined his jaw and he looked unkempt and anxiety ridden. Even his clothes were unnaturally wrinkled, tiny droplets of blood on the hem of his shirt from previous events. The icing on the cake to his look were puffy, bloodshot eyes still shiny from tears. Antonio had been crying.

Lovino's face fell, he instantly felt awful.

"G-God, don't… It's…," the teen trailed off, unsure of what to say. Never having been good with words or empathy was a problem lately. He felt so awkward sitting there. Part of him wanted to hug the Spaniard, or at least assure him everything was alright, but another part of him wanted to shrink back against Antonio's depressing gaze. The fallen expression looked so strange and foreign on a face that usually was, and should be, constantly upbeat.

For a moment they just stared back at each other, Antonio's face unknowingly stumbling through a plethora of emotions_. _They ranged everywhere from regret to relief, and Lovino even thought he saw a hint of self-loathing flicker in Antonio's eyes_. _What was he thinking?Now would have been a good time to magically become better at reading people, but that was more Antonio's specialty.

"Um…," Lovino started, trying to break the silence and the unrelenting gaze. He hoped the small huff of dialogue would latch onto an actual conversation instead of just the saddened stare down of the other. "So-"

"Lovino," he was cut off by Antonio's blank voice. "You're awake."

"Well, yeah. I guess I am."

Antonio stood up, stumbling a bit as he stood, and Lovino noticed he was trembling. It was barely noticeable, but still there. Taking deliberate steps to the side of his hospital bed and dragging the chair over with a scraping noise the Spaniard took a seat next to Lovino before gently taking his hand. The way Antonio cradled Lovino's limp fingers was like if there was too much pressure he would break.

Stroking the back of the Italian's hand with his thumbs he bowed his head and let out a long sigh. "I'm so relieved," he murmured.

Lovino felt his face heating up and he was glad the Spaniard was staring intently at his hand. Grumbling at Antonio he tried to make his voice as normal as possible. "I didn't mean," he paused for a moment, thinking, "Well, I mean, I hope I didn't worry you too much." With pained movements he managed to sit up.

Antonio let out a breathy chuckle. "You have no idea," the Spaniard looked up and reached for Lovino's face, brushing hair back behind his ear. A small grin twitched at Antonio's lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You look like a tomato, did you know that?"

Lovino sputtered with a rush of exasperation. _Of course _Antonio would say something like that. "I do not! God, you're such a tomato bastard. Have some shame, would you? I don't think the doctors are going to appreciate your tomato fetishizing. Jeez."

The Italian knew he'd said something right when a small spark of life was back in the man's eyes. The subtle changes in his face took years off him. "You're so cute."

Lovino made an irritated noise, but before he could respond Antonio's face became deathly serious and the words he wanted to form stuck in his throat. "Lovino, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest, all right?"

"I don't know," was what he first said, but a hardened look from Antonio made him change his mind. "O- Okay! Alright! I don't know what made you such a hard ass, but fine. Whatever."

"Good," the Spaniard peered into his eyes, searching for something. "Just _what _have you gotten yourself into? M_io Dio, _Lovino, if you say nothing I swear I'll get Veneziano on your ass." The threat, while seemingly weak, was actually a pretty harsh one. When it came to keeping Lovino in line Feliciano was the one to call. That damn pasta freak could be downright scary when he wanted to, but the reason Lovino became so rigid at his mention held an entirely different meaning. He didn't want Feliciano involved, it was dangerous. He couldn't imagine the happy Feli' anywhere near his situation.

"Look, Antonio, I can't," before the Spaniard could speak he continued, "and don't call him Veneziano. You know he hates that, 'because _felice _means happy and the whole world should be happy! Ve~ ,'" he imitated Feliciano's words in a high voice, hoping the light words would change the subject.

His words, however, had no effect on Antonio. The Spaniard could have been a sniper locked onto his target, because though his goal was far away there was no doubt that once Antonio wanted something, really wanted it, he would get it. Right there was a lesson Lovino had learned the hard way.

"This is serious," his voice was a low growl. For the first time Lovino thought he looked genuinely angry, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't scare him. "Who did this to you? What did this to you? Why are you always coming back to me so hurt, Lovino? Tell me! Tell me something, anything! Do you know how crazy this is making me? Even if it was, no_, is_ my fault I'm not going to sit here and watch you kill yourself. Whatever's going on I'll help you, okay?" Antonio was out of his seat, grasping the sides of Lovino's resting head in firm, warm fingers. The fact he was practically yelling his furious plea seemed to not register to the Spaniard. "Look," the bottom of his lip was trembling now and his voice lowered to a coarse one, "I know I'm probably not your first choice for help, and I know there are probably more people, people who you're closer to that can help you, but this is killing me. It really is. I don't like seeing you hurt. I like seeing you happy – yes, _mi tomate,_ I can tell when you're happy – and blushing and flustered and even annoyed, but I don't like this. This fear you have all the time is agonizing to watch. I don't like it at all."

In that moment Lovino wanted to say something back, but mentally froze. The words he found stumbling from his lips were the kind he always regretted immediately after. "Oh, so suddenly you care, bastard?" Was his flight response.

Antonio visibly deflated, a look of regret was evident on his face now as he unclasped his hands from Lovino's face, sitting back in his seat. "I do," the words came, muttered like he was trying to convince Lovino of they're sincerity.

The Italian chastised himself inwardly. He knew the Spaniard cared. At first it was off putting that Antonio never pried. For a while he wondered if the Spaniard really just didn't care what happened to him, and admittedly that deteriorated his mental health faster than the mafia could (though, he'd never admit it.) However, one day when he took a moment to scrutinize Antonio, trying to figure out if the happy Spaniard possibly hated him, he found not a look of resentment but underlying concern. All he did was what he thought was best for the situation, more specifically, best for Lovino.

"I know," as Lovino spoke Antonio's expression was replaced with doubt. "Fuck, Antonio, I know. I'm not a total idiot. I knew all along, _Dio, _and people say my skull is thick."

"Are you sure?" Antonio resembled a kicked puppy.

"_Si. __Dio__, __sei __ridicolo."_

"Just a little," the Spaniard looked as if a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders and Lovino wondered just how much that little detail had been eating at him.

"Anything else you're worried about?" Lovino deadpanned.

"You," he sighed. "Just wish I'd done more."

"_Cazzo, _you better not beat yourself up about this too. Stop with the pitty party. It's not you're fault some bastards like to kick my ass, _idiota._" Though his words were harsh Lovino hoped the message would get across.

"Speaking of that-"

"Not talking about it."

"Lovino," Antonio hissed, "you're going to have to tell me."

The Italian quickly thought it over for a moment before deciding a hospital was not the best place to casually mentioned he'd join the mafia. In fact, he didn't want to tell him at all. "Nope, I'll carry it to my grave."

Antonio visibly flinched at his words, "I'll make you tell me."

Lovino laughed dryly. "How? You going to kick the information out of me? As if I'd even tell you here, but maybe when we get home I'll consider it." That was a lie.

"Lovi, I'm not waiting two weeks for you to tell me," the Spaniard sounded exasperated.

The Italian's mind blanked. "Two weeks? What the fuck? I thought I'd be able to get out today."

"You seriously think you're getting out of the hospital this early with a punctured lung?"

"Wait," Lovino mentally backtracked. "Ok, step back. What's wrong with me?"

"A lot, Lovino. On the surface I guess you seem pretty ok now, but the bullet in your leg wasn't the only injury. You're hurt _bad, _real bad. I guess you had a broken rib when I pulled you out of the car, because they said it punctured you're lung. The doctors said you'd be fine now but too much movement right now could rip it back open, and God Lovi I really don't want that to happen. If you were to walk you'd probably be limping, they said the bullet did a number on the bone in you're leg, going to need crutches at least. You've got some internal bleeding to and I just-" Antonio cut himself off, placing a hand over his mouth. Tears welled in his green eyes and Lovino knew he was thrashing himself over the injuries. Sometimes it was unbareable how much Antonio cared for him. That idiot.

"Calm down, Bastard. Like I said it's not your fault and-" his breath hitched and realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Voice suddenly riled with supressed panic he stared wide eyed at Antonio. "What hospital is this?"

"_Que_? Why? Why does it matter?"

"Well, it doesn't..." Lovino found himself lying again before mentally shaking himself. "You know what, no, it does matter, bastard! Just tell me."

Antonio scrutinized him. "St. Netherlands."

"_Merda_," Lovino's eyes widened into saucers. "Just _– Merda – _I can't stay here. We have to go, now!" The Italian began to move and when Antonio saw he was trying to climb out of bed he stood in a flash, firmly pushing Lovino back onto the bed.

"No," the Spaniards tone held finality to it, causing the Italian's blood to run cold.

"You don't understand, look I- I'll tell you when we get out of here, alright? _Per favore_."

Antonio frowned, please was not a word that fit lightly in Lovino's vocabulary. "That's not how it works, Lovi."

Normally, the Italian would fight (or whine) to get his way, stubbornly pushing until he got what he wanted, but not today. The fear was too cripiling, the emotion more stubborn than Lovino. It battered him relentlessly and somewhere it occured to Lovino how pathetic he was. He, someone who was deep set in the mafia, someone who was about to become a _Boss, _so overriden with fear it was comical, but the fear was not misplaced. "Fine! I'll tell you, but just promise me you'll take me out of here. Okay? Promise, bastard!"

"You know I can't do that," Antonio's lips were set in a hard line.

The Italian wondered if it was even worth it, telling him now. He didn't want to, never did, _wouldn't_. All this effort to keep Antonio far out of his new line of work, but he needed out of here. There was always that chance the Spaniard could fall into trouble just by being associated with him, and still he took it. The only thing that kept him from moving away was that he, well, really liked the man.

Now he just wished Antonio would smile. A real, genuine smile with one of those hugs Lovino pretended to dislike that put butterflies in his stomach and shot warmth through his body. It would be so comforting, make everything so much easier. The air was so suffocating, like the room didn't want him to breath.

Any other circumstance and Lovino's lips would be sealed, glued shut, but now? He was in the heart of somewhere he shouldn't be and it was terrifying. It may have been worthless to tell Antonio – for all Lovino knew he could barely walk anyway – but he had to try. _Dio_, he had to. Right now it could help, and just the information couldn't hurt Antonio, right?

_Right?_

The Italian took a shaky breath to steady himself, sending silent prayers to a deity he hoped was listening before speaking up.

"I may be involved with the mafia."

* * *

><p><em>Translations- <em>

_Mi tomate- my tomato_

_Que- What?_

_Dio- God_

_Merda - Shit_

_Cazzo - Fuck_

_Si- Yes_

_Sei Ridicolo- You're so ridiculous _

_Felice- Happy_

_Per Favore- Please_

**A/N: Did I mention the rating may go up? If I didn't and I write an M rated chapter I'll be sure to put a warning at the top. It all depends, could stay the same or could go up.**

**Man, Fanfiction is always pushing words together. When I upload if there's a sentence in a different language it gets all jumbled. **

**So, I know there's not a whole lot of Spamano, but that's basically what the story is to be honest. The relationship is going to build. Lovino already knows he likes Antonio, just not in what way, and Antonio? Pfft, that sap is smitten. Smitten and worried, like I'm-going-to-throw-up worried. Poor guy.**

**I'm trying to get at their relationships not by outright saying it, because c'mon would Lovino seriously just admit he likes Antonio? Nah. Especially with all this crap going on. It definitely wouldn't be at the front of their minds. Antonio probably would tell him, or at be seem super obvious about it, but with the situation Antonio just doesn't want to be inappropriate with him cause Lovino's always going through some hard shit. If they seem a little OC-ish that's just because the situation is hella serious. There will be a lot of information coming in later chapters, so don't expect to be hit with everything all at once 'cause honestly I'm not even 100% sure where this is going yet. Just a general direction and a lot of drama. The characters will lighten up though, so don't worry. I'm kind of going for gushy moments between them. Gushy moments, blood, the usual. Fic isn't named _Rosso _for nothin'. It's just going to be a slow start but when it gets going it will. (I hope.)**

**Don't worry about Spamano. It'll happen. Is happening, really, but could you imagine Antonio asking Romano on a date right now? 'Like, I know you've been shot and you just told me you're a criminal but you should totally go on a date with me because I love you.' Just not happening. (Although, Poland would say something like that, but even I can't imagine Poland being that stupid.)**

**But yeah the whole I-have-feelings-for-you just wasn't the main conversation here. Just gettin' the ball rollin'.**

**So, anyway, arrivederci.**

**(Don't even know if I spelled it right but god I love that word)**


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